


Non nobis solum nati sumus

by prizewinningfruitcake



Series: Bitten [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 17:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17585306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prizewinningfruitcake/pseuds/prizewinningfruitcake
Summary: Tumblr prompt - 35. Non nobis solum nati sumus. We are not born for ourselves alone. For Carver and Merrill?





	Non nobis solum nati sumus

Merrill doesn’t look at the dull flat surface in the corner, not right away. Shivering in the early morning air, she builds a fire in the wood stove and puts on her tea, sweeps up the dust that somehow always accumulates overnight. With her cup in hand, she finally goes to sit cross-legged in front of it, half hoping some course of action will occur to her. She doesn’t touch it, as that could weaken her influence later when she needs it. It gives off energy, she thinks, a vague glow, but it could be her imagination. When the bell rings its first, she gets up, dresses, and leaves the house.

Carver rises early to do the washing, a task that’s fallen to him since childhood. He doesn’t mind. Mother and Gamlen tend to sleep past sunup, and he takes the opportunity to enjoy the quiet while it lasts. They don’t have as many clothes as they used to; it doesn’t take long to get them all drying on the line. He makes note of the holes in the knees of Marian’s trousers for mending, one chore Mother still takes upon herself. Once he’s finished, he builds a fire and sits in front of it, drying his sleeves and shirttail.

Arianni insists she doesn’t need anyone to check in on her, but she always seems grateful to see Merrill, and Merrill likes to talk to another Dalish, even if neither speaks of their clan. She brings an armful of healing herbs and a few odd flowers from her last trip to Sundermount, waves off Arianni’s somewhat overwhelming thanks. They’re opening the gate as she leaves, and she can’t help but glance around the corner into Lowtown.

It doesn’t take Mother long to start. Marian hasn’t been home in days, and her absence leaves Carver to serve as both her keeper and her proxy. “Years upon years I cared for you children, and now I can’t squeeze a single note of gratitude,” she rants as he boils the water for breakfast. Over her porridge she says, “I am not your maid, I am your mother. You tell your sister if she wants to live in this house, she must show respect for her elders.” Never mind that Caver hasn’t the foggiest idea of where she is. For all their sakes, he hopes she’s alright.

There’s an old woman, Liasha, who Merrill’s only seen a handful of times, but the Alienage takes turns leaving food and supplies on her doorstep. This week she has a bit extra, so she leaves her a loaf of bread, a few eggs, a bit of soap, and a sack of apples. The rest of the flowers she ties into a bundle and leaves as an offering for the vhenadahl. She mutters a few cursory words to the Creators, but keeps most of what she really wants to say to herself.

Gamlen gets up and Mother has a new target. He gripes right back at her, which Carver generally tries to avoid doing. Stepping outside to cut firewood drowns out their bickering well enough, and he finds himself looking up every now and then at the open gate to the Alienage, fleetingly revisiting a gentle touch to his lower lip.

Back to the mirror. It’s a long afternoon, a long day, a long life, Merrill thinks, waiting solitary and pondering questions that may well have no answers. But no, this must be something. She’s felt its power; it belongs to a time she can only imagine in the slightest, most minuscule way. But it’s forgotten what it is, or nearly forgotten, just like she and her clan, her neighbors. Her best hope now is to repair the great crack in the front. Perhaps when it’s whole it will remember.

Marian shows up just as Mother becomes wretched, agonizing over their low station, crying that she’s failed them. Carver shoulders past his sister and out the door before she’s had a chance to close it fully. When she asks where he’s going, he tells her to mind her business.

Merrill catches a glimpse of him before he comes around the corner, and her stomach flutters. Trouble. That’s what Arianni said to her: “That boy will bring you trouble.” The Keeper would agree, which only makes her dig her heels in further. He smiles when he sees her and she melts, trouble stored away for now.

Carver plucked a spray of mismatched blossoms from whatever flower boxes he could reach on the way. Merrill mentioned she’d like some to put on her table, and though of course she’s capable of grabbing them herself, he thought it might be nice to have someone else do the work. He means to pull them from behind his back when he reaches her, but she bounds out to meet him and latches on before he can.

Arms clasped around his waist, head smushed against the buckles on his shirt, she asks, “How was your day, Carver?”

“Stupid,” he says. “I mean, more of the same.” He wraps his arms around her, an anchor. “I missed you. Yours?”

“Alright. A bit lonely.”

“Right,” he agrees. He untangles himself, bops her on the head with the flowers before offering them. “You want to go for a walk with me? I think I need to get out of here for a while.”

She takes his bouquet, a fire-orange lily, little yellow sunflowers, a twist of wild bergamot. “Yes,” she says. “That is exactly what I want.”


End file.
